Tom’s head was spinning. His grandfather had risked everything so that the thylacines might make one last improbable stand against extinction in this vast lost valley. The gamble had paid off. The rarest creatures on earth had found sanctuary here, and his grandmother had charged him with protecting them. He’d made a solemn oath. It was a sacred trust.
Tom felt for the pendant around his neck, hearing the beat of his own heart and the pulse of rushing blood in his ears. He exhaled slowly. Karma was warning him. Warning what a mistake it would be to betray the tigers’ existence, even to his own wife. Warning that it was a false and foolish plan. There could be no cathartic outpouring, no matter how sweet it would be to unburden himself. His marriage would have to survive without it.
* * *
By mid-afternoon they reached Fortune Cave and Tom began setting up camp. Kitty looked around doubtfully at the damp walls and the uneven floor, strewn with rocks. ‘Why are we staying here?’ A mountain dragon darted out from between her feet, making her squeal. ‘Let’s go back.’
Tom shook his head. He could say that coming here was a pilgrimage to honour his grandfather, a great man that Tom dearly wished he’d known, however the mood for sharing secrets had deserted him. When he left to collect firewood Kitty was frowning. His decision to hold back was already spoiling things.
As Tom snapped a stick across his knee, a scream sounded from the camp site. He raced back to find Kitty running from cave. She leaped into his arms, but with no fear on her face. Instead it shone with delight.
‘You naughty boy.’ She kissed him full on the lips, eyes wide open. ‘When were you going to tell me? You know I hate surprises.’
What on earth was she talking about?
Kitty took his hand and pulled him into the cave, past spider webs and a bleached wombat skull. A sinking feeling hit him. He’d underestimated his wife’s newfound adventurous spirit, never imagining she’d explore so far inside. Kitty felt her way in the dim light until she reached the broad, shining band running diagonally across the rock.
Her fingers trailed along the bright seam. ‘The gold, babe. I found the gold.’
* * *
Bacon and beans sizzled in the pan as the sun sank beyond the cliffs, casting the valley into shadow. Tom made a pot of coffee and toasted the bread. Going through the motions. Thinking furiously how best to contain the damage.
Kitty was still tapping away at the seam of gold with Tom’s peg hammer. She’d been at it for an hour, and already had a pouchful of nuggets that must have been worth thousands of pounds.
‘Kitty,’ he called. ‘Come have some dinner.’
Kitty emerged from the rear of the cave wearing his head torch, covered in dust and carrying that damn bag of gold.
He thrust a mug into her grimy hand. ‘You must be exhausted.’
‘I want to do my bit.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘We need some samples to take home.’ She sank down onto the log beside him and took a gulp of sweet, black coffee. ‘When can we get it officially assessed, you know, by proper mining engineers? Or have you already done that?’
Her excitement was palpable as she prattled away, talking a mile a minute about all the things she’d do when they were rich. ‘I won’t have to wait for those assholes at Worldwide to toss me a bone. I’ll start my own movie studio, choose my own pictures, pick my own co-stars. We’ll have a mansion in Hollywood.’
Tom stared at the ground, shell-shocked. How was he going to tell her?
Kitty put down her mug and grew suddenly serious. She took his hands in hers. ‘Tom, thank you. Nobody’s ever loved me like you — finding this gold, bringing me out here in the middle of nowhere to see for myself, all to make my dreams come true. How did you keep it a surprise for so long? And to think I almost didn’t come.’
‘You didn’t?’
‘I thought it was insane to go traipsing around in the woods for days on end. I came along because of that weekend you promised me in Hobart, and because I would have gone mad if you’d left me behind with those demented servants of yours. God, I hate those two.’
Tom served up the beans and bacon, not daring to speak. Kitty didn’t seem to mind. She was doing enough talking for both of them.
‘You can get your face fixed properly now. That English doctor made a mess of it, didn’t he? But don’t worry, we’ve got the world’s best plastic surgeons in Beverly Hills. My friend had her nose made to look exactly like Olivia de Havilland’s.’ Kitty laughed. ‘Can’t have you on my arm, walking the red carpet, looking like that, can I? Even if you are filthy rich.’
‘You’ve got it wrong, Kit.’
But Kitty wasn’t listening; still talking about the house she’d buy, and the people she’d impress. The clothes she’d wear, the restaurants she’d go to – even the meals she’d order.
Tom studied his wife in a detached kind of way. The wild glint in her eyes, her rapid breathing and the manic tone to her voice. ‘Stop it, Kit. Shut up!’
Kitty paused mid-sentence.
Tom shovelled the rest of his meal into his mouth, finished his coffee in two gulps, and quenched the campfire with a canteen of water.
‘Babe, what’s the matter?’
‘We’re leaving.’ He rinsed their dishes and stowed them in his pack. ‘Going back, like you wanted.’
‘Don’t be silly, Tom. That was before.’
He rolled up their swags.
‘I’ve seen all those westerns,’ she said. ‘Don’t we need to stake a claim or something?’
He rounded on her, eyes blazing, all his guilt and fear and disappointment boiling inside him. ‘This place will never be mined — not by me, or you, or anyone else.’
‘What are you talking about?’ She picked out a gleaming nugget from her bag. ‘We’ve hit the jackpot.’
‘Forget the gold.’ He snatched the bag from her, marched over to the stream, and tossed it in.
‘No!’
Kitty hurled herself after it, but Tom caught her wrist and pulled her back to the campsite. She stood facing him, chest heaving, her face a mask of anger and confusion. ‘Have you lost your mind? You bring me all this way to show me this gold — gold that will change our lives — and then you want me to forget about it?’
He lit a cigarette. ‘Bringing you here was a mistake.’
‘No, it wasn’t,’ she said, her tone wheedling now. ‘It’s the best thing that ever happened to us.’ She moved nearer, laced her arms around his neck, briefly found his lips with hers. ‘I’m your wife, Tom, and I love you. Let’s go back for more samples.’
He pushed her away. ‘No, Kit. We’re leaving now, even if I have to carry you.’
She slumped down on a log and started to sob.
Tom sat beside her, taking a long drag on his smoke. What a monumental cock-up. He’d betrayed the tigers more surely than if he’d led Kitty to their den. He might have convinced her to overlook the miracle of their existence. But gold? Kitty would never let this go.
He no longer had any illusions about where he stood with his wife, and wouldn’t waste any more time struggling to love her. She’d said too much and put too much greed on show. His ‘demented servants’ were like grandparents to him. And he wouldn’t be ‘fixing his face properly’ so she could parade him at some Hollywood party. He’d decided against further operations. McIndoe’s words came back to him. Some people undergo endless surgeries, desperate to look normal again. But you’ll never be normal, Tom. You must decide what is a good-enough face for you. Kitty had helped him make his decision. Tom wouldn’t be guilted or cajoled into chasing the impossible. He was content with who and what he was. Kitty would have to deal with it.
After a long time her sobbing subsided. He put a consoling hand on her shoulder.
She slapped it away. ‘You’re such a liar, Tom. Remember what you said to me just a few nights ago? You’re my wife, Kitty. I’ll do what I can to make you happy, Kitty. What a crock. I knew you were weak, but I never thought you were cruel.�
�
Tom stood to finish packing. To be fair, Kitty had a right to be confused, yet there was nothing he could say to help her. He shoved Kitty’s hairbrush into her backpack.
She jumped to her feet and pummelled his chest, screaming, ‘Leave my things alone!’
‘Pack yourself then.’ He held her at arm’s length until the tantrum subsided. ‘But if you don’t, I will. It’s a two-hour walk, plus the climb. If we don’t leave soon, we’ll lose the light.’
Kitty stepped back, panting, with an ugliness on her face that he’d refused to see before. She helped pack up the camp in sullen silence, and when they started back, she lagged twenty feet behind him He cast frequent glances over his shoulder to ensure she was still coming. ‘Are you there, Kit?’
‘Screw you!’
Tom groaned. It was going to be a very long walk home.
Chapter 36
By the time they made it back to the homestead, Tom and Kitty had reached something of an uneasy truce. Or perhaps more of a cold war. Barely civil when they spoke, which was seldom, and working hard at avoiding each other.
‘Whatever happened with you two on that trip?’ asked Mrs Mills the next day at breakfast.
Tom scowled. The last thing he wanted was to relive the disaster.
‘Why does your girl walk out of the room when you walk in?’
He dropped his half-eaten piece of vegemite toast, and shoved his chair back. ‘Mind your own business.’
Mrs Mills blinked at him in surprise. ‘Rudeness won’t solve your problems, Tom.’
‘Then tell me what will, Mrs M,’ he snapped. ‘Tell me what will?’
* * *
Over the coming days, Tom threw himself into the work his grandmother had started, collecting unusual leaves and flowers to catalogue in the library. Kitty spent her days drinking the parlour bar dry, and subjecting Old George and Mrs Mills to torrents of foul abuse when they tried to intervene.
‘This can’t go on,’ said Mrs Mills one morning, when she found vomit in the hallway. ‘For God’s sake, Tom, talk to the poor girl!’
Tom scrubbed his hands over his face. ‘Ask George to put a lock on the parlour door,’ he said. ‘I’ll give her a day to sober up.’
* * *
The next morning Tom knocked on his wife’s bedroom door. No answer. He went in anyway. She sat huddled by the window with downcast eyes, clothes crumpled and stained, her once golden hair matted and oily, with dark roots showing through.
‘Hello, Kitty.’
‘What the fuck do you want?’ She didn’t look up.
‘I hate seeing you like this.’ He pulled up a chair beside her. ‘Look at me.’ She raised her gaze. Puffy face, splotchy skin, eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed. ‘What can I do to help?’
‘Change your mind about the gold.’
Tom shook his head.
‘Why not?’
‘Mines damage landscapes, Kit. I won’t destroy such a beautiful place.’
‘But you’d be rich, very rich. You could buy a hundred Binburras, save a hundred forests.’
She had a point. Sacrificing Tiger Pass might be worth it to protect many thousand more acres of wilderness — if it weren’t for the tigers.
‘Sorry, Kit. I won’t do it.’
‘Not even for me?’
‘Not even for you.’
A subtle change came over her. Was it acceptance he saw on her face? Kitty was a good actress, hard to read, but acceptance would make living in this loveless marriage easier.
‘I promised you a weekend in Hobart and tomorrow’s Friday,’ he said. ‘We could leave first thing, find a nice hotel. Go to the movies. See a play? Do whatever you want. Then on Monday I’ll head to the airport and see if someone needs a pilot. What do you say, Kit? Will you come?’
* * *
‘We’re here,’ cried Kitty, winding down the window. Her face was flushed and she talked too fast. Tom wished he’d been able to stop her drinking at dinner. They alighted from the taxi at Hobart’s Theatre Royal and joined the throng of people in the foyer. Colourful posters for Show Boat lined the walls. Kitty was in her element, looking stunning in her new dusty pink halter-neck gown of soft velvet and matching evening gloves. Her neck dripped with diamonds – well, quality paste ones at least – and an afternoon at the hairdressing salon had restored her crown of platinum curls. She looked every inch the film star.
Heads turned and people pointed. ‘Isn’t that Kitty Munro?’ She put on a brilliant smile, like someone had turned the lights on, and subtly distanced herself from Tom.
Tom lit a cigarette and kept to the wings, letting Kitty have her moment. Men flocked around, casting admiring glances while she flirted outrageously. He had to admit, Kitty dazzled when she wanted to. He must be the only man in the room immune to her charms. What a thoroughly unsuitable husband he was.
A young girl of about twelve stopped to stare at him. Her mother hurried her away with a worried backward glance. He was a fish out of water here among the beautiful people. She’d have been better off by herself. Why ever had he agreed to come? The hotel, tickets and new clothes had set him back two month’s pension. Kitty could try to disguise him in a tuxedo, waistcoat, bow tie and shiny Oxford shoes, but his getup wasn’t fooling anybody. This crowd would still despise him and his ugly face.
‘Tom?’ Emma came hurrying over, subtly stylish in black Chantilly lace. ‘Why didn’t you tell us you were in town?’ And there was his brother. She waved to Harry, but he’d already been drawn into Kitty’s bright orbit. ‘Why not stay with us? I’d love for my mother to meet you.’
‘We have a hotel.’
‘Come back for supper, then.’
The bell rang, telling the audience it was time to be seated. Emma slipped her arm into his and they headed for the stairs.
* * *
Harry pulled some strings so the four of them could sit together. Front row, dress circle – best seats in the house. Tom expected the sort of frivolous operetta that would bore him stupid. But Show Boat, with music by Jerome Kern and lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein, was neither frivolous nor boring. It told a deeply moving story of bigotry and tragic enduring love. Tom was transfixed. When Joe sang Ol’ Man River, the haunting ballad moved him to tears.
Afterwards, in the foyer, Kitty wasn’t so complimentary. ‘Talk about depressing. When I was in Hollywood there was talk of MGM doing a new film version of Show Boat with Ava Gardner playing Julie LaVerne. I’ll talk to my agent about it, tell him to get me an audition. I could add a little more fun, a little more glamour to the role.’
‘Fun?’ said Tom in disbelief. ‘Julie is a tragic figure, destroyed by prejudice and abandoned by the man she loves.’
Kitty glared at him. ‘You can lighten any role with a little imagination.’
‘I’ve called a taxi,’ said Harry. ‘We’re all going back to my place.’
Tom tried to refuse, but Kitty squealed and took Harry’s arm.
‘Come on,’ said Emma, taking Tom’s. ‘When Harry makes his mind up …’
* * *
They sat in the grandly furnished supper room of Harry’s Sandy Bay terrace house, drinking champagne and eating salmon mousse canapés.
Kitty and Harry talked and joked and ineptly played the piano, screaming with laughter. It was as if nobody else was in the room.
Emma moved to sit on the broad arm of Tom’s leather chair. ‘What’s wrong? You’ve hardly said a word.’
He gave her a tight-lipped smile. Kitty was knocking back champagne at a great rate, already three sheets to the wind. Tom checked his watch, wondering how soon he could escape without appearing rude. Another ten minutes should do it.
‘We’re hopeless,’ laughed Kitty after a particularly miserable attempt at a chopsticks duet. ‘Play a record, Harry.’ She spun around and around, sending her dress flying up her thighs. ‘Let’s dance.’
Harry put on Pee Wee Hunt’s Twelfth Street Rag. Kitty slipped off her shoes and began to move, champa
gne in hand.
Even Tom was hypnotised. The way she rocked and swayed, without spilling a drop. The way she skipped and twirled, as if the beat was coming from inside her body. The tilt of her chin and the looseness of her knees, like a leaping cat. And all the while her eyes never left Harry’s face. She was dancing for him alone.
When Kitty stumbled and nearly fell, Tom stood and took the needle off the record mid-tune. She gulped down her drink and hurled the empty glass at his face. Tom ducked, while the sudden silence magnified the tinkle of shattering crystal. He picked up her clutch purse, took her hand, and tried to lead her from the room.
Kitty snatched back her bag and slapped him. ‘As if I’d go anywhere with a freak like you.’
Emma gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. Tom grabbed Kitty’s arm. She kicked him, and fled behind the piano.
Emma attempted to intervene, approaching Kitty slowly, as she would a startled colt. ‘You’ve had enough champagne. Your husband’s trying to look out for you.’
Kitty laughed, a hollow mocking sound that gave Tom a chill. ‘Looking out for me? That’s a joke. Tom doesn’t give a shit about me.’
‘You know that’s not true,’ said Emma in a soothing voice. ‘Tom loves you.’
Kitty snorted. ‘I’ll tell you how much he loves me.’ She stared at him accusingly. ‘He’s found gold at Binburra and won’t share one nugget of it with me.’
Tom forgot to breathe, praying the others would dismiss Kitty’s remark as drunken nonsense.
Harry frowned. ‘Is that true, little brother? Have you found gold at Binburra? Papa always said it could be there.’
All eyes were upon him. What to say? He’d promised Nana never to tell anyone, especially Harry. ‘Fool’s gold, nothing more. Kitty doesn’t know what she’s talking about.’
The Lost Valley Page 27